


Your Flesh has been my Pillow

by GentleMoirai



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Dirty Talk, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pillow & Blanket Forts, Sick John, Sick Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-15
Updated: 2014-02-15
Packaged: 2018-01-12 10:53:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1185389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GentleMoirai/pseuds/GentleMoirai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Sherlock are sick and decide to build a pillow fort, until they realize they can have even more fun under the blankets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Flesh has been my Pillow

**Author's Note:**

> For the johnlockchallenges Valentine's Day gift exchange (http://johnlockchallenges.tumblr.com/) I got looblintodooblin (http://looblintodooblin.tumblr.com/) with a request for "Building a pillow fort! Extra points for awkward jokes and dressing gowns". Happy Valentine's Day my dear.

John shuffled from the kitchen carrying two cups of hot tea and headed toward the lump on the sofa. “Sherlock, here’s some tea. You need to drink plenty of fluids to help you shake off this cold.” The pile of blankets didn’t move. “Sherlock, are you asleep?” John asked a little more quietly.

“Unnnggggh,” the lump responded in an annoyed tone.

John sighed and set the cup down on the coffee table. “Sherlock, drink the tea. It will make you feel better. You know I’m right. Now make a bit of room.” He shoved the end that he assumed were Sherlock’s feet and wedged himself into the space he’d created.

Sherlock’s head popped out of the opposite end. “Do you actively work to be a British stereotype John?” Sherlock rasped at him, “Your faith in tea borders on religious.” The cold had made his normally deep voice even deeper and rougher. John dismissed the shiver that ran down his spine as a chill associated with the infection that he was also fighting.“And why are you on my couch?” Sherlock continued.

“Your couch? The couch is in the shared flat space. If you want to lie on something I’m not allowed on you can go to your bed.”

John blew on his tea to cool it, cringing slightly at the awkwardness of his last statement. Jesus, he sounded like he was annoyed he wasn’t allowed in Sherlock’s bed. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Sherlock quietly studying him for several moments before finally reaching over to pick up his tea.

John cleared his throat and attempted to move on. “I want to watch some television and the couch is the best place for that. That’s what you get to do when you’re sick: Lie around with lots of pillows and blankets, watch bad tv, and nap whenever you like.”

“Hmmmm,” Sherlock rumbled. “Well, you need some blankets then,” and kicked his blankets out to cover John’s lap.

“Ta.” John exchanged small smiles with Sherlock as he pulled the blankets over himself, immediately warmed by Sherlock’s body heat which had been trapped by the covers. John fished the remote control out from between the cushions and turned on the television to find something suitably mindless to doze off to. As he flipped through the channels Sherlock slid his feet down the couch until they bumped into John’s leg.

“My feet are cold,” Sherlock said, as he began to wiggle his toes under John’s thigh.

John remained still, flipping through the channels. “That’s...uh, that’s fine.” Without taking his eyes off the tv he let his hand drop onto Sherlock’s feet and wrapped his hand around one of his ankles. “That help?” he asked as he stroked Sherlock’s ankle and the top of his foot in a weak pantomime of rubbing skin for warmth.

“Yes,” Sherlock responded quietly, “much better.”

John stared at the television blindly. His heart was beating quickly and he didn’t bother to make excuses to himself about fevers and sickness. He could feel Sherlock’s toes pressing into the flesh of his thigh. His own fingers glided over Sherlock’s smooth skin, over the top of his foot, around over his anklebone. John’s thumb and forefinger bracketed Sherlock’s Achilles tendon and swept up until he felt the sparse, wiry hair on Sherlock’s legs. He let his hand slide up the leg of Sherlock’s pajama bottoms, his hand gripping and gently squeezing Sherlock’s calf before sliding back down to Sherlock’s foot. He kept repeating the motions, mesmerized by the soft feel of Sherlock’s skin. John tried to focus on the television and relaxing, but the fact that he was touching Sherlock under the covers, however chastely, was making parts of his anatomy tingle.  
“Here.” Sherlock said as he pulled his toes out from under John’s thighs, “if you’re going to give me a foot rub I might as well put my feet in your lap.”

“No.” John quickly shifted to the edge of the couch. If Sherlock put his feet directly in John’s lap it wouldn’t take long for things to move from tingles to very tense. He needed a minute. “I mean, uhh, before you get comfortable…I need…more pillows and blankets! Your blanket doesn’t cover my feet.” John quickly rose and announced with false joviality, “I told you, the key to recovery is lots of pillows and blankets.” and with that he turned and headed up the steps to his room without a glance at Sherlock.

Upstairs in his room John began to automatically collect the bedding to drag back downstairs. As he filled his arms with pillows he huffed out a small laugh. God, he’d gotten aroused just from touching his flatmate’s feet. He knew it wasn’t a fetish suddenly presenting itself. It was just the rush of touching any part of Sherlock. Well, that was enough of that. Sherlock was his best friend and he wouldn’t take advantage of that trust by surreptitiously groping him. John wasn’t in denial about his feelings for Sherlock. He knew he found Sherlock beautiful, smart, funny in their private moments together, loyal….alright, that was really enough of that. Yes, he knew he could see Sherlock as more than a friend, but that wasn’t what Sherlock wanted. And what John wanted most of all was to have his life with Sherlock, so he was happy to ignore the other stray observations about his best friend.

Feeling much more even keeled and with his bedding in hand, John headed back down to the living room. As he entered the room he had to smile at himself and Sherlock. They looked like kids having a sleepover: John dragging his blankey around and getting ready to flop on the floor to watch cartoons, while Sherlock’s wild black curls stuck up in every direction and he hugged a pillow to his chest like a soft toy. John began to grin widely.

“What did you find in your room that was so amusing?” Sherlock asked.

John just smiled and kept heading for the sofa. Once he was standing over Sherlock he dropped the bedding, burying Sherlock in a small avalanche.

“John, what..” Sherlock exclaimed before he was buried. There was a pause and then muffled laughter came from under the blankets. “John, what’s gotten into you?”

“Hold on. I’m not sure that’s enough.” John said as he breezed towards Sherlock’s room. “You’ve got to have more pillows than that.” Inside Sherlock’s room John quickly snatched three more pillows before returning to the main room.

Sherlock had stuck just his head out of the pile on the couch and was laughing at John. “There’s not enough space on the couch for all this, let alone for you and I as well. Are you planning on reconstructing both our beds in the living room, because I think you have enough materials. Wait, what’s that look you just got on your face? You think you’ve had a brilliant idea.”

“I have had. Building a bed from bedding is boring Sherlock. And we wouldn’t want to risk having you sick and bored. No, I think we’ll just have to build a pillow fort.”  
Sherlock sat and stared at John. “How much cold medicine have you taken? You know they provide dosage recommendations to avoid this sort of thing.”  
John snorted, or attempted to but he was a little stuffy so the effect was rather lost. “You’re lecturing me about experimenting with chemicals! Hold on, where’s my phone, I have to tell someone. I’m sure Lestrade will stop whatever case he’s on to hear this.”

“Yes, yes. Poor put upon John. How dare I question your plans to build and defend imaginary castles.”

“You have a bloody imaginary palace in your mind Sherlock!” John giggled in delight at besting Sherlock twice in their teasing exchange of insults.  
Sherlock rolled his eyes and sighed, “Fine, yes, but we’re not building a pillow fort.”

John nodded. He had really only said it because the idea made him laugh when it popped in his head.

“That would be terribly unoriginal. What we’ll do is build a pillow pirate ship. As Captain of the ship I would be standing aft at the helm so we’ll make this end of the couch the stern and you can take the bow.” And with that Sherlock began to arrange the pillows and blankets in a vaguely nautical design.

John plopped down on his designated end of the couch and tried not to fall off from laughing. He couldn’t believe Sherlock was doing this! Sherlock’s eyes twinkled as he tried to hold a serious expression and arrange the bedding. He was clearly enjoying surprising John to this degree. “Hmm,” said John, “I’ve already served admirably in one branch of Her Majesty’s military. I suppose I don’t want to ruin my service record by deserting my new post as First Mate. I’ll see to the sails Captain Holmes.” John picked up one of the blankets and stood on the couch debating how to rig a pillow ship sail. Ah, there was a nail in the wall left over from one of Sherlock’s elaborate crime collages. He managed to hang one corner of the blanket from the nail and then arranged the rest of the blanket in a good approximation of the sort of triangle shaped sail a child might draw on a ship. By the time he was done Sherlock had finish arranging the pillows along the couch and had even bunched up the other blanket on the floor in way John assumed was meant to represent waves. John was impressed by how well it had turned out. Anyone walking in would be able to guess that the couch was supposed to be a pirate ship. Of course once they guessed that and looked at the two grown men in pajamas and dressing gowns standing on it pretending to be pirates there would probably not be a discussion of how creative they were.

John settled down next to Sherlock on the aft of the couch. “What should we call our…” Before John could finish the blanket slipped off the nail and covered them completely. Sherlock turned and looked at John. “Don’t be alarmed, but I think we’ve hit a squall.” They gazed earnestly at each other for a few beats before falling against each other laughing.

The laughter slowly wound down and John became aware that they were pressed together from shoulder to hip to knee. The blanket over the two of them made it feel like they were hidden in a small, dim cave and neither man seemed particularly interested in climbing out and facing the world again. Sherlock chuckled a little more, still feeling punchy from the laughing fit, when something caught in his lungs and the laughter turned to coughing. John reached over and gently smoothed Sherlock’s curls away from his forehead, briefly laying his hand there and across Sherlock’s cheeks to check for fever. The coughing reminded him, “I think we’re due for our next dose of cold medicine.”

“Ugh,” Sherlock leaned into John’s hand, his razor cheekbones gently cradled in John’s palm. “I’m fine. I don’t need any. I don’t like the way it makes me feel muddled and I hate the taste.”

John smiled indulgently. Sherlock was usually all sharp edges: keen mind, quick movements. But here he was playing children’s games to make John laugh and seeking comfort cuddled against John’s side. John slid his hand from Sherlock’s face to wrap his arm around Sherlock’s back and pull his head against John’s shoulder. When Sherlock slumped against him John couldn’t help letting his other hand return to Sherlock’s hair. He combed his fingers through the tangles, soothing and comforting the sick detective.

“I know but it will help with your cough and other symptoms and if it makes you sleep, so much the better.” John spoke softly. They were still ridiculously covered by the blanket and it made him feel like he was cocooned with Sherlock in their own world.

Sherlock didn’t offer any protest. He just continued to let his body slowly melt against John’s. When his own weight made his arms feel uncomfortably pressed between their bodies he pulled them away and wrapped his arms around John’s middle, feeling the strength of John’s ribs and back, the bones and muscle. Their upper bodies fit together so well. Sherlock’s face tucked in the crook of John’s neck, John’s cheek against his curls, their arms wrapped around each other. But he was twisted awkwardly at the waist to accommodate them sitting side by side.

“This would be more comfortable if we lay down.” Sherlock offered. “And if it makes me sleep, so much the better.” He smiled into John’s neck.

John sucked in a small gasp of air. He was so distracted by the feel of Sherlock’s lips brushing against his neck as he talked and the sensation of feeling Sherlock’s rumbling voice under his hands that he didn’t quite register what was being said until Sherlock began pushing him onto his back. As he lowered himself onto the couch he stared up at Sherlock looming over him. Sherlock pulled the blanket with them, keeping them covered as he pressed John down. John lay on his back and felt Sherlock arrange their bodies to fit each other. He pressed his abdomen against John’s hip, tucked his shoulder under John’s arm and his face back into the crook of John’s neck, and finally wrapped an arm around John’s chest and slid his leg over John’s so it could slot in the space between John’s legs. John felt completely wrapped in Sherlock and found it hard to catch his breath. “Sherlock…” he whispered.

“Yes John?” Sherlock seemed to decide they couldn’t talk if they weren’t looking at each other and twisted so he could look John in the eye. He turned from his side to halfway lying on John, supporting his weight on his elbow and the knee between John’s legs. Sherlock’s thigh moved from lying across John’s leg to pressing firmly against John’s crotch.

“Sherlock!” John gasped at the sudden intense press, his hands flying to Sherlock’s hips to help support the other man’s weight.

“I said, Yes, John?” Sherlock whispered as he rocked forward slightly into John’s body.

They stilled, staring at each other, their faces close and their bodies tangled. John had no idea what was happening but even someone as socially oblivious as Sherlock Holmes could not mistake this moment for platonic camaraderie. And John thought, if Sherlock knew what this was and wasn’t stopping then why the hell was he still indecisive? John surged up, pressing his lips against Sherlock’s, sucking, kissing, biting at that heart shaped mouth. Sherlock’s lips almost immediately parted, allowing John to sweep the tip of his tongue into Sherlock’s mouth and caress his tongue lightly. That touch seemed to destroy any remaining hesitation. They opened their mouths and began to kiss deeply, running their hands over each other’s body, gripping and squeezing. John slid his hands under Sherlock’s t-shirt, running his hands up and down Sherlock’s back as far as he could reach. When he encountered the waistband of Sherlock’s pajama bottoms he hesitated only a second before plunging both hands in and grapping two handfuls of Sherlock’s plush arse. Sherlock gasped in surprise, suddenly thrusting hard against John’s groin. Their immediate and echoing groans of pleasure filled the room.

John was hard. His cock was fully and magnificently erect. He might have been embarrassed at Sherlock feeling his arousal pressed into his stomach if Sherlock wasn’t currently grinding his own erection against John while he made desperate, soft noises with each thrust. The blanket had slid off of them by now and John gratefully sucked in the cool air. He looked up at Sherlock. He almost looked like he was in pain, chasing the sensations from their touches. John felt calmness spread over him and hush the small voice urging caution in the back of his mind. He reached up to get a firm hold of Sherlock’s hip and back and then executed a quick twist he had learned in hand-to-hand combat training. Sherlock suddenly found himself on his back on the couch with John propped up over him.

John slid a hand up Sherlock’s chest, fingers running over his nipple, before continuing up the column of Sherlock’s neck and digging his fingers in Sherlock’s curls. “I’ve got you Sherlock,” he said quietly. “I’ll take care of you, like I always do.” He punctuated his words by rolling his hips, gently rocking his hard cock against Sherlock’s through the thin pajama material, making Sherlock groan. John ran both hands back down Sherlock’s chest to the edge of his t-shirt before smoothly pushing it up to Sherlock’s armpits. He leaned forward and sucked on Sherlock’s nipples, left then right, until each was pebbled and erect. He gave a little nip with his teeth followed by soothing flicks with his tongue. Sherlock hissed and then groaned from the sensations of John’s mouth. John returned to Sherlock’s mouth for a deep, licking kiss and when he attempted to move away to say something Sherlock arched off the couch chasing his mouth and dragging the kiss out longer.

John finally pulled away, desperate to touch Sherlock more intimately. “Sherlock, I want to make you feel good. I …want…I want to make you come.” He stared into Sherlock’s gray eyes, lost for a moment in the image of bringing Sherlock to orgasm. “But we can stop. This is moving quickly. We don’t..”

Sherlock forcefully interrupted him, “I don’t think months of sexual frustration counts as moving too quickly. If you stop now I will scream. Now please, finish what you started.” With that Sherlock placed his large, warm palm over the front of John’s trousers and squeezed gently as he moved his hand up and down.

On the battlefields of Afghanistan and chasing after Sherlock, John had learned time and again how to judge when hesitation would save you and when it would cost you. This was a moment for recklessly charging ahead. John grabbed the waistband of Sherlock’s pajamas and tugged them down to reveal Sherlock’s prick. He wrapped his hand around it, leaned over, and swallowed it down in one swift move.

Sherlock actually shouted with surprise at the warm, wet mouth sucking his cock and licking the exposed head. “God! John!” He couldn’t formulate a more complex thought to save his life. When John deemed Sherlock to be sufficiently slick with saliva he released him to lean back and tug down his own pajamas. Then he lowered himself back over Sherlock, lining up their cocks and feeling the brush of hot, silky skin.

“Oh John,” Sherlock moaned as John wrapped a hand around their pricks, rubbing the heads together. “John, you brilliant man.” Sherlock smiled up at him and his own hand joined John’s to create a tight passage for them to fuck against each other. John would have laughed at Sherlock’s expression if he weren’t overwhelmed by the feeling of Sherlock touching him in so many ways.

They moved against each other for long minutes, hips thrusting, thumbs swiping pre-come over sensitive cockheads. Sherlock kissed John desperately, moaning into his mouth as John continued to tease his cock and balls.

John groaned deeply and his thrusting hips and stroking hand began to move more quickly, “Sherlock….Jesus. Fuck… Sherlock, you’re going to make me come!”

“Don’t stop John! Please, oh God, yes!” Sherlock’s disjointed cries signaled that his own completion was approaching and John held nothing back. He thrust hard against Sherlock, shooting semen over Sherlock’s prick and stomach. For a second Sherlock was breathless at the burning hot feel of John’s come on his skin before he toppled into his own orgasm, feeling as if his entire body was rhythmically clenching and releasing.

Slowly the two men began to return to awareness. John lay completely draped across Sherlock. He pushed himself up on his elbow so he could press his lips to Sherlock’s and gently kiss him. With strings of delicate kisses and soft breaths he tried to show Sherlock how much he cherished what they had just shared. Sherlock understood and wordlessly delivered his own message. He bracketed John’s face with his hands and looked into his clear blue eyes before kissing him deeply and passionately. They lay for a moment on the couch, wrapped around each other, until John began to feel chilled and overly aware of the awkwardness of his shirt and trousers shoved up and down with drying come on the skin in between. “I’ll get a wet flannel,” he offered and headed to the bathroom.

Once they had cleaned themselves and fixed their clothes Sherlock interjected before John could begin to organize his thoughts. “John, I’m sure this change in our relationship will, at least in your eyes, soon necessitate a lengthy discussion.” Sherlock was physically unable to resist rolling his eyes at this idea. “But I do believe you promised me crap telly and naps whenever I want so I propose that right now we use these blankets and pillows and lie down on the couch….together…preferably.” John studied Sherlock, his best friend and now, lover? He gave him a crooked grin and began to collect bedding from the floor. “Alright,” he leaned over and stole a quick kiss from Sherlock, “I’m up for any of your plans, as long as they're 'together preferably'.”

**Author's Note:**

> Your bones have been my bedframe and your flesh has been my pillow. - Ani DiFranco
> 
> You can follow me on tumblr under the same name. http://gentlemoirai.tumblr.com/


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